


Roleplay, if you want to call it that

by pleasebekidding



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M, Roleplay, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebekidding/pseuds/pleasebekidding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yesterday I got an ask saying ‘Damon and Alaric role play?’ I responded by giving some of the links to great RP I’d seen, and then I got this ask:</p><p>"I meant what would they role play as. Oops."</p><p>So I tried to just answer this, or make it funny, but… it turned into a drabble. I DON’T KNOW. I JUST WORK HERE OKAY</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roleplay, if you want to call it that

Alaric isn’t sure how he knows it’s happened again. The boarding house is too quiet, maybe, Damon doesn’t call out, “dinner will be an hour, go and have a fucking shower, you stink of teenagers”. There’s a heaviness in the air. Some intent.

Alaric laughs. He wonders what it is this time. Personally he was a fan of the Sparta thing. That was great. Or maybe Damon is going to leap from some quiet corner and arrest him. God, the handcuffs. Alaric is awfully fond of those handcuffs.

—

The day Damon answered the door in a pair of pink, frilly panties, wearing mascara and just a touch of lip gloss, and insisted on being called Sadie… Jesus Christ, Alaric would never forget that. He’d gladly complied. ‘Sadie’ had helpfully leaned across the desk in the library and Alaric had rimmed him for half an hour before fucking him so hard they’d both nearly blacked out. And then they laughed, and laughed, on the couch, Alaric pulling Damon across his body and kissing away the last of the gloss, calling him a lunatic, and Damon smirking worse than Alaric could ever remember.

The thing about Damon… the thing Alaric never got, back in the day, was that when he was secure, when he wasn’t afraid the world was gonna get swept out from under him, he was totally fearless. The first time Alaric had said he loved Damon, Damon was almost angry. Pushed him and tested him and tried to pick a fight and in retrospect Alaric was glad he’d recognised that for what it was, because he hadn’t risen to the argument, and hours later, Damon had gripped his hair and made Alaric swear he wouldn’t leave, and Alaric nodded and smiled and said “Yeah, not going anywhere.”

And Damon had glared at him for a good long time and said “Everyone always does.”

And Alaric’s stomach flopped because no one had ever wanted to keep him, either, and maybe Damon didn’t get that. So he smiled serenely.

“Not. Going. Anywhere.”

It was maybe a week after that that Alaric arrived at the boarding house to find Damon hyperactive and fervent and demand he put on the gladiator costume. It was still funny, a year later. The swords were a nice touch. Damon’s was bigger.

“Over-compensating for something?” Alaric deadpanned.

“Yours is longer,” Damon said airily, “But on close examination mine is definitely thicker.”

And they’d laughed into each other’s necks, and soon after the ridiculous costumes had been abandoned, and they’d made love just as themselves, as Damon and Alaric.

And that was the pattern, mostly.

Damon would go to bizarre lengths to set up some scenario, and Alaric would love it, and laugh, and play along, and it would last exactly as long as it took for them to get bored with the costumes and toss them aside, and just fuck.

(Though they did okay with the handcuffs thing. The handcuffs showed up every couple of weeks. Damon could have torn through them, of course, but that spoiled it, and Damon was no spoil sport.)

—

So there is something going on, and Alaric anticipates an interesting evening. He has not yet ascended the stairs when he hears the words: “you just made about the worst mistake of your life, my friend.”

He looks up, and there is Damon, in the slickest suit Alaric has ever seen, and a hat with a feather in the band, and an old fashioned revolver in his hand.

Alaric tries hard not to smile. He raises his hands in defeat. “You tickle me right,” he says, “and I’ll squeal on the whole crew.”

He can’t even imagine what Damon plans on making him wear, but he’s sure it will won’t last long.

He only hopes Damon has the handcuffs close by.


End file.
